Driver Picks the Music
by dragonflybeach
Summary: They've been hunting together for eight years now, and Dean still hasn't updated his collection of cassette tapes. Sam finally finds out why. Just a brother moment.


"So I've been thinking." Sam mentioned offhandedly. "You know, we could get a real stereo for this place." He waved around the cavernous library of the bunker. "Surround sound."

Dean nodded, looking interested.

"Everything sounds better in digital, even your greatest hits of mullet rock." Sam continued. "We could replace your old cassettes with cds … "

"No." Dean said firmly.

Sam just looked at him.

"We can buy cds in addition, but we are not getting rid of my cassettes." Dean pronounced.

"Why not?" Sam snorted. "Because they were Dad's? You know, we've got enough room here, you could set up a freaking shrine. Put his cassettes on the altar, with his utility jacket and that Marine Corps lighter I know you still have somewhere."

"Shut up." Dean huffed.

"He's been dead _seven years_, Dean." Sam continued. "You know, I really thought you were starting to outgrow that mold he kept trying to shove you in and become your own person … "

"They weren't Dad's!" Dean interrupted angrily. "They were Mom's! Mom was the one who liked rock. Dad listened to country up until she died!"

He shoved himself to his feet and began to stomp toward the kitchen.

"Mom's?" Sam's broken voice stopped him.

"Yeah, they were Mom's." Dean turned, shoving his hand through his hair as he often did when confronted with emotions.

"You never told me that." Sam accused.

"All the times we watched Smokey and the Bandit on tv, you never picked up that Dad liked Snowman better than the Bandit?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess he did. I just never thought about it before."

"Dad listened to country for a while after she died, but it mostly made him want to drink more. It got to where he only listened to country music at night. For years, he would put on sad songs and drink and cry after he put us to bed." Dean shrugged, but there was a quiver to the corner of his mouth. "Especially George Jones songs. I think he felt closer to her when he listened to her old music."

"I could see that." Sam nodded. "I never understood until after he died just how damaged he really was."

'Yeah, I don't think I did either." Dean agreed.

"He never wanted to talk about her." Sam continued. "And I didn't remember her, so if anything ever did get mentioned about her, I always felt left out."

"She never would have wanted you left out, Sammy." Dean looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have … "

"No." Sam shook his head. "You did what you had to do. You didn't talk about Mom because it would upset him. And you always did whatever you had to do to keep the peace."

"I could have told you more about her when Dad wasn't around." Dean conceded.

"Stop." Sam ordered.

"What?" Dean's brown wrinkled in confusion.

"Stop blaming yourself for everything." Sam shook his head.

"But I'm the only one who could have … " Dean protested.

"I could have asked." Sam pointed out.

"But you were afraid of upsetting me if you did." Dean argued.

"No more than you were afraid of upsetting Dad or me if you brought Mom up." Sam pointed out. "There's no use blaming anyone for it now. But if you ever want to talk about Mom, I'd be glad to listen to whatever you want to tell me about her."

"She was beautiful." Dean offered.

Sam snorted. "I know that."

"And she loved us so much." Dean added.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Her favorite comfort food was tomato-rice soup with grilled cheese sandwiches."

Sam smiled. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. And she would sing 'Hey Jude' to us instead of a lullaby."

"That's why you used to sing it to me." Sam realized.

"Yeah." Dean smiled sadly. "And she would tell us that angels were watching over us. She used to sing while she washed the dishes."

"I wish I could remember her." Sam said softly.

"I do too." Dean shook his head, then smirked. "But I'll sing to you while you wash dishes."

"Oh please don't," Sam groaned.

"I sing better than you!" Dean defended.

"That's not saying much." Sam scoffed. "Besides, you dirtied up the dishes, you get to wash them."

"Excuse me, your majesty?" Dean frowned. "I dirtied those dishes cooking for you."

"Yeah, you did." Sam grinned. "You're going to make a great wife some day."

Dean smacked Sam on the head, which led to a slap fight, which led to two grown men rolling around on the floor like the little boys they had so rarely gotten to be.

And an hour later, they washed dishes side by side, singing along with a Styx cassette.


End file.
